


never dreamed (that he’d be gone from me)

by iamalystark



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst and Feels, Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Depressed Peter Parker, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Pepper Potts Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Peter Parker is Tony Stark's Biological Child, Peter Parker is a Mess, Poor Peter Parker, Precious Morgan Stark, Sad Peter Parker, Suicidal Peter Parker, You Have Been Warned, and a dash of, im sorry, kina happy ending? not really, kk on to the angst, little bit of, peter is babey and im really sorry, this hurts me too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-16
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:53:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22281397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamalystark/pseuds/iamalystark
Summary: Peter Stark was dead one moment, alive the next. But his dad was gone now, and he sort of wished he was dead again, with him. His mom was there now, speaking to him, telling him there was someone he needed to meet. He didn’t want to, didn’t know if he could.(Or, Peter, still grieving after witnessing his father’s death, meets a certain doe-eyed little girl)
Relationships: Peter Parker & Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe), Peter Parker & Pepper Potts, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 1
Kudos: 146





	never dreamed (that he’d be gone from me)

**Author's Note:**

> i don’t know why i made this but i did and it’s sad and im sorry (also im sorry its short but i think its good??)
> 
> also, the title is from the song dance with my father by luther vandross and i would definitely recommend giving it a listen because it just screams peter & tony to me

Before, Peter thought that falling apart, literally (breaking, crumbling, _hurts_ ) in his dad's arms would be the worst thing he ever had to go through. Because what could possibly be worse than dying, staring up into your father's grief stricken eyes? ( _I’m sorry. . .)_

It was this, he supposed. It was falling to his knees at his dad's side, the man not moving. It was hearing his raspy breaths and stuttering heart. It was seeing the sad acceptance on the man's face. ( _We won, Dad. We won.)_

The man that had raised him and loved him like nobody else ever could. It was sobbing and crying as his uncle held him, his mom pressing a kiss to his dad's cheek. It was watching the arc reactor flicker out and hearing the man's heart stop beating. 

It was the strangled cry that tore from his throat as tears streamed down his face, and the Avengers kneeling all around him. It was losing his father, he finally decided. It was knowing exactly what the man had felt five years before, just a few minutes for him. 

It had been five years for his dad, and now he had to lose him? Why? Why did the world not favor the Starks? Why couldn't they just be happy? After what seemed to be hours, (it might have actually been) Peter had stopped crying, sunken back in the rubble, his arms wrapped around himself as if to keep warm. 

Pepper, his mom, was holding him gently, whispering in his ear and crying. She was crying, and the teen found that he couldn't. There weren't any salty droplets left.

All he could do was stare and let his mom hold him. So that's what he did.

* * *

Peter was standing now, he didn’t know when or how he’d done that, didn’t know how his limbs were still working, how he was still alive when this _agony_ clenched so hard at his heart he just wanted to collapse. 

People were talking to him, leading him somewhere. The nanotech suit retreated from him, revealing plain, rumpled school clothes. The blood and dirt was cleaned from his face and head, and his mom’s fingers began carding through his hair. 

He pulled away from her, couldn’t stand the touch, not when Tony had been the last one to run his hand across the boy’s head, pulling him to sleep. Not when he could never be touched or held by his father again. 

Pepper gave him a look of pity, something he would normally hate, something he would be so, _so_ angry about, but Peter couldn’t even muster the energy to lift his head. 

He died and his dad mourned. Then his dad died and Peter mourned. He didn’t know what to do anymore. He stared at his hands (shaking, always shaking), and he imagined turning into dust again. He imagined joining Dad and closing his eyes and not feeling this hurt anymore. 

But then Mom was there again. She was crouching in front of him, eyes gleaming with tears as she held his face in her hands and brushed away the tears he didn’t know had started flowing again. 

Happy was there now too, standing in the doorway (Doorway to where? Where were they?) with an anguished look, but also a small, sad half-smile. Why was he smiling? What could there be to be happy about?

“-eter. Peter.” 

Peter’s wars stopped ringing and he finally listened to his mom, eyes uncertain and sad as he looked to her. 

“Baby, there’s someone I want you to meet.” Pepper said softly, smiling at him. 

Peter could only blink, slowly. Why? He had to meet someone? He wasn’t sure he could even speak, let alone pretend to be okay in front of a stranger. 

Without anything to say, he only nodded, minutely. “Bring her in, please, Happy.” His mom said finally. 

And the bodyguard stepped out of the way, revealing a small brunette girl with wide doe-eyes that bored into his. A shuddering gasp escaped him. “This is your little sister, buddy. This is Morgan.” The redhead explained, beckoning the girl over.

She immediately darted into the woman’s arms, hugging her. “Do you know who this is, baby?” Pepper asked the girl as Peter gasped at them. 

The girl, Morgan, looked shyly to her older brother, slowly pulling out of her mother’s grasp. “He’s Petey? My brother?” She asked. 

Peter somehow (he didn’t know how, but it was _hard_ ) managed to crack a small smile. “That’s me, Mo.” He didn’t know where the nickname came from (didn’t know _anything_ ), but he went with it. 

Morgan grinned brightly and ran forward into his arms. Quickly, so as not to drop her, he wrapped his arm firmly around her back, one hand holding the back of her head as she squeezed her tiny arms around his neck. 

He was broken (like glass, shattered), but he supposed that as he held Morgan, as he held his little sister, he healed, just a bit. He’d always be broken (cracks can’t be fixed), but maybe he was mended. He would make it. He’d be okay. 

“Where’s Daddy?” Morgan asked, seemingly as an afterthought. And Peter broke all over again. He cried silently, squeezing his eyes shut, and held her tighter.

He may have been broken, but Morgan was there, she was wrapped around him like a doll. She was holding him together. Together, they’d be okay.


End file.
